FUBAR
by Rock114
Summary: PFC Conner Bryant was called into action three days after the dead rose. When a rescue mission in downtown Macon goes wrong, Conner's squad receives new orders that test their loyalty to their uniform and whether the creed of "No Man Left Behind" applies in a new, dead world. Most characters are OCs, story takes place during "A New Day."
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

SNAFU

Another thunder clap of gunfire echoed in the street. PFC Conner Bryant dropped to the ground as the bullets snapped over his head in his latest brush with death. "Christ Williams, ever heard of a thing called _friendly fire?_ You nearly took my goddamn head off!" Rising from the ground, the Georgia National Guardsman slid a new magazine into his assault rifle and took aim at the approaching corpses. Williams replied with a low gurgling noise, and Conner turned to see what had happened.

One of the creatures had grasped Williams from behind, and the soldier's throat was firmly clamped between the monster's teeth. Blood was jetting out of the wound as Williams died, the creature tearing chunks of flesh from his face. Conner swung the rifle around and sent a three round burst through the thing's head, and its body fell limp. Williams was lying next to it, twitching, and extended a shaky hand to Conner as his life faded. Without a second thought, Conner set his weapon to semi-automatic, and ensured that his fellow soldier wouldn't come back.

Sergeant Keenan's gruff voice could be heard even above the background noise of what seemed to Conner to be the end of the world. "I told you to get on that goddamn radio, and get us out of here! These ghouls have already breached the perimeter!" The squad's radio specialist, Private Dorn, uttered a meek "Yes, Sergeant", before bowing his head and trying the radio once more. The low, constant moaning of the dead was all around them as the squad picked them off as fast as they could aim and fire their weapons. Unfortunately, it seemed that there were more of the undead than they had bullets.

Crouching, Conner sighted in on one and pulled the trigger. _Click._ He froze. _Is it jammed? I just loaded the damn thing. What's happening? _Overcoming his surprise, he was just in time to pull his combat knife from the sheath on leg as the dead thing came within arm's reach. It lunged at him, but he leaped back. Off balance, his assailant fell forward, but Conner charged back at him. Grabbing the beast's neck with his left hand, he drove his knife up through its chin with all of his might, pushing the tip of the blade through and into the brain. His victim shuddered for a second as the last of its few brain functions ceased and Conner let go, the now truly dead corpse hitting the cement in the street with a _thud. _Sneering at it, he made a silent promise that if he died out here, he'd kill whoever had supplied his squad with these half-loaded magazines.

It had started a week ago. At least that's what he thought. Time moved differently now that his entire world had been turned upside down then dropped to the pavement on its head. His squad had been called into action on the third day of this outbreak, or attack, or whatever it was. As a member of the Georgia National Guard, his company had been tasked with evacuating cities and towns on the way to Atlanta, where other units were attempting to set up a safe zone. Casualties had been a common occurrence for the past four days, and Conner had lost count of the number of men he'd seen ripped apart, or dismembered, or ones with throats torn out from corpses that had ambushed them from around corners or in dark rooms. His own squad had lost three men only yesterday.

Now they were in Macon, Georgia. Their last stop before Atlanta. Before safety. A reconnaissance unit the day before had reported survivors in downtown Macon. Their orders were to get in, extract them, and escort them to the rally point at the Save Lots near the interstate, where they would stay until military operations in the area had ceased. Then Conner's unit, along with others, would escort the survivors at the Save Lots to the permanent safe zone in Atlanta and wait for relief.

Jarred out of his thoughts by Keenan's grating voice, Conner heard it. The faraway sound of rotors slicing through the air. And it was getting closer. "Damnit kid, if you do not get your ass to the LZ in the next two minutes, you will be _left behind._ Is that clear?! We're going to EVAC out to Robins for our new orders! This mission is scrubbed, so unless you want to get real friendly with these dead folks you should get your ass in gear!"

Normally, Conner would hit someone for talking to him like that, but he didn't care now. He was getting out of this hellhole. Across the street, at the top of an apartment building, he saw the helicopter touch down. His squad mates rushed into the building in a frenzy, each of them eager to be the first one on that aircraft. There would be enough room for them all. The squad's recent "downsizing" had made sure of that.

From behind Conner, he heard a scream. He and Keenan turned to find it. The source was Corporal Mathis, now lying face down on the pavement. One of the corpses had reached out from under a wrecked car and grabbed his foot as he ran past, tripping him. It dragged itself out from under the wreckage, bloody stumps in place of legs that left a dark trail behind it. Mathis reached out to them and groaned as dozens more of the undead converged on him from all around. Conner turned away just as they reached the young man and sprinted to the apartment building while Mathis screamed out the last seconds of life from under a mass of rotting, hungry corpses.

Beside him, Keenan was breathing heavily. "Alright son," he gasped, "Let's get out of here."


	2. (2) A Familiar Face

Chapter 2

A Familiar Face

Conner stepped off of the helicopter, out of breath, tired, and into the relative safety of Robin's Air Force Base on the outskirts of Macon. Keenan, Dorn, Farley, and Carter, the few others that remained, followed suit as the mechanics swarmed the vehicle and began their maintenance. Keenan pulled one of the mechanics aside, a man with short black hair and a pair of glasses. The mechanic saluted and stood rigid in a dirty jacket with the words "Fight or Flight" on the back.

"Sir, Technician Mark-"

Keenan held up a hand before Mark could finish. "Son, I'm too tired for all of this formal bullshit, and these fancy, military regulation introductions. Just tell me where my boys and I can load up on ammo and gear, then where we can get some rest."

The mechanic, Mark, dropped his salute and pointed across the base. "The armory is over by the administrative office. There's an empty barracks building on the east side of the base where you could grab an hour or two of sleep." Keenan thanked the man as the squad prepared to move.

Conner slung his rifle over his shoulder as Mark pulled him aside. Whispering, the mechanic extended his hand. "Name's Mark, as I'm sure you heard. You would be…?"

Conner took his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Private First Class Conner Bryant, Company C of the Georgia National Guard." He looked around at the bustling personnel attending their duties, ferrying ammunition to the perimeter guards locked in a struggle to hold the walls. Medics carried soldiers wounded by the undead, or in some cases even friendly fire, to the base infirmary. Above it all was the unmistakable thundering of heavy machine guns in the distance and officers shouting orders as they organized the defense of the base. "Is it always this busy here, or did we just arrive during tourist season?"

Mark chuckled for a brief second, but then cast Conner a glance of equal parts fear and despair. "There's an entire horde of those things at the gates. You saw them when you flew in, right?" Conner hadn't seen anything on the way in. The events of the previous seven days were beginning to get to him, seven days since he'd first learned that the dead were walking. Most of that time was an incomprehensible blur, only revealed in still images or flashing sequences of traumatic events in his mind that assaulted him in whatever free time he had now. Conner shook his head, and Mark continued.

"We've been under attack by them for hours. The guys at the gate have some Humvees with mounted machine guns on them, and have been firing nonstop since this afternoon. And you know what else? I heard that the unit holding I 75, Checkpoint Echo, is under attack too, but they don't have as many guys as we do here. They're going to fall."

Fall? _Shit. This whatever it is just keeps getting worse and worse._ "Can you be sure?" Conner inquired.

"Yeah, I think so," Mark answered. His voice still low, he glanced around before carrying on. "And we're running out of ammo here, too. In a few hours, this place is going to be swarming with those things. The gates are already bending inward because so many are pushing up against them, and when we run out of ammo for the .50 cals-"

Conner finished his thought. "Then that'll be the end of the line for anyone still in Macon, right?" Mark nodded. Conner felt a chill go up his spine as the hopelessness of the situation became apparent. "There's nothing we can do, is there?"

Sadly, Mark confirmed his fears. "No, there isn't. Checkpoint Echo is sitting on the last road out of Macon that leads to Atlanta. There aren't enough helicopters left in the area to evacuate the poor bastards holding it, or even here. When that place falls, everyone in the area is going to be trapped. Including everyone here on base."

"Jesus Christ…"

"Yeah. It'll be every man for himself once that happens. And when it does, there'll be hundreds, maybe thousands more of these things flooding into the city."

Something grabbed Conner's shoulder from behind. He tensed up as he spun around to face his attacker, only to be greeted with a familiar face. "Shit Farley, you scared me."

Farley smirked as he motioned toward Keenan, Dorn, and the others. The rest of the squad was halfway to the armory without them. "We better get a move on, man. C'mon Conner, Sarge is gonna blow a gasket if he realizes you're not with us."

Turning back to Mark, Conner waved a farewell. "Stay safe, man. Stick with good people."

Mark paced over to where the rest of the mechanics were working on the helicopter. "Worry about yourself, Conner. I'll see you around."

_Not likely,_ Conner thought, as Farley led him toward the others.


	3. (3) New Orders

Wind whipped through Conner's hair as he bounded into the helicopter's cabin. Farley was right behind him, assault rifle in hand, and took the seat to his right. Dorn stepped in next, followed by Carter, a short red haired boy of 18 who had graduated high school mere months before. Sergeant Keenan was the last onboard, slowly stepping in as the vehicle began to ascend.

Conner glanced out of the aircraft as it buzzed over the base, and saw a disaster area. The undead swarm was enormous, with more joining it every second, drawn by the flashing lights and loud noises of battle. The horde must have stretched for a mile, maybe more as it slowly encircled the base. He hoped Mark would be okay.

The vehicle was dark, running only a few necessary lights on the interior. They cast an eerie red glow across the cabin and gave Conner a surreal feeling as the intercom crackled and the pilot cleared his throat. "Welcome to Warner Robin airlines, this is your pilot speaking. Name's Lieutenant John Kelley, with copilot Flight Officer Jared Hanson, and I'm the slickest stick this side of the Atlantic Ocean. The time is currently 8:15 PM, and the temperature outside is… well, it's Georgia, it's hot out. But who cares!" He chuckled into his headset and the static distorted it, giving it a slightly menacing inflection. "Sit back and enjoy the ride folks. Hanson?"

Hanson began flipping switches. "Coming to you now, courtesy of flight 1099 out of Robins AFB, one of the well known, all time classics from The Eagles…" Kelley's copilot flipped a switch, and the vehicle's intercom system began blasting _Hotel California_ through the speakers.

Conner heard Kelley chuckle from the cockpit. "Shit Hanson, I love this song! This is why I keep you around."

Farley nudged Conner in the side. "How long you think those two have been together?" Before Conner could reply, Keenan pounded the aircraft's ceiling with his gloved fist to get their attention. His face pale, more so than usual, and it clashed sharply with his dark, tattered uniform and the soft glow of the vehicle's running lights.

"We've just gotten word that the civilians we were assigned to rescue in downtown Macon have managed to escape," Keenan bellowed, "and that they have managed to secure the Travelier Motel on the outskirts of the city." Keenan paused for a moment and let the soldiers enjoy what might be the last good news of the evening. Uncharacteristically, he was trembling slightly as he continued.

"Our mission priorities have been temporarily changed due to this development," Keenan said. "Checkpoint Echo is guarding Interstate 75, the last road out of Macon that leads to Atlanta. They're under heavy attack, and if that outpost falls, everyone in Macon and the surrounding area will be trapped. All of your friends at the AFB, the refugees at the Save Lots in town, even those folks down at the Travelier. We can't hold Macon, but if we can hold Checkpoint Echo long enough, the survivors here have a chance at making it to Atlanta."

Keenan looked around at his battered and bloodied squad. "I ain't saying that everyone's counting on us. All I'm saying is that we have to do our duty. That's it. At 0800 tomorrow, we'll be leaving this madhouse of a city for Atlanta, and I don't want to lose any more of you than I already have. Not this close to the end."

As quickly as it had started, the music was cut off by Kelley yelling into the intercom. "We're coming up on Echo ladies and gentlemen! Don't forget your luggage when exiting the aircraft, and have a pleasant day!" The music came back on as they closed in.

Glancing out of the vehicle once more, Conner saw the battle below. Humvees, cargo trucks, civilian cars, and even a tank had been parked alongside the interstate in several places to serve as barriers against the undead. Between the vehicles, sandbags and concrete road dividers had been assembled into ramshackle barricades hastily covered in barbed wire. Soldiers manning vehicle mounted weapons fired nonstop into massive crowds of undead approaching the perimeter, while soldiers inside the secured area were digging holes and fortifying the outer barricades with whatever they could fine.

Conner felt the helicopter touch the ground, and without a second thought he jumped out. The heard the moans of the dead converging on Echo were audible as soon as he escaped the noise generated by the vehicle. It was like a chorus of the damned, heading straight for him.

"Conner," Keenan screeched, "Get over to the far edge of the perimeter with Dorn and Farley. There's a squad there that says it's about to be overrun." Conner locked eyes with his two friends, and without another word, led them into the fray.


	4. (4) The Deserters

It was like something out of a movie. Conner couldn't stop thinking that as he sprinted toward the edge of the secured area with Farley and Dorn at his side. The sound of gunfire drowned out almost everything else. The tank he had seen earlier let off a massive _BOOM_ every time it fired its main gun, cutting massive swaths in the horde of walking corpses as they approached. Officers were shouting orders, shell casings clinked against the concrete of the road as soldiers fired, and great explosions spit out flames and showered nearby soldiers in dirt and debris

Everyone was shouting. "Fire in the hole!" "Left flank, left flank!" "MEDIC!" "I'm out, get me some ammo!" Many of these calls were cut short, some being drowned out due to the noise, others ending alongside the life of their owner. It was disorienting, overwhelming. He couldn't make sense of any of it as he, Dorn, and Farley maneuvered through the chaos.

Finally reaching the eastern edge of the perimeter, one of the combatants stopped firing and looked at them. He had a deep scar running down the left side of his face, ending at his jawline, and bright blue eyes that contrasted sharply with the dark green camouflage patterns on his helmet. "I don't recognize you," he rasped, " You ain't from this platoon."

Farley responded while Conner and Dorn took up positions and began firing. "We just got here. The Cavalry has arrived." Relieved, the scarred man stood up and put his hand on Farley's shoulder in a gesture of gratitude. The rest of his squad stopped firing as well and turned to look at their reinforcements. Farley brushed the man's hand away and shrugged. "No need to thank us, saving the day is just what we do."

Scarface pulled his sidearm out of his holster and fired it directly into Farley's chest.

Scarface yelled at the top of his lungs while Farley collapsed, struggling to breathe and clutching at his chest. "New meat just arrived! That means we've got a way out of this insane asylum, boys! Let's book it!" In unison, Scarface's squad grabbed their rifles and fled, dashing back the way Conner, Dorn, and Farley had come from. An entire section of the line, originally intended for ten men, was now manned by only three.

"Jesus Christ! Dorn, help him!" Dorn rushed to Farley, groaning in pain on the ground, while Conner stayed at his post. The field in front of him, once a lush green pasture beside the road broken occasionally by a tree or two, looked like an old World War Two picture. Shell craters were everywhere, bodies lay strewn throughout the once peaceful field, and severed body parts were scattered as far as the eye could see. Through it all, the horde marched toward him, unyielding in the face of overwhelming firepower, driven by a single minded determination to kill, to eat, to turn.

Conner pulled the trigger as quickly as he could, sending as many of these creatures back to whatever dark abyss they crawled out from. For every one he killed, two more seemed to crawl over its body and take its place. He let his training take over, as he'd been taught in boot camp. He detached, letting his body go through the motions without thinking.

A yelp of pain from beside him snapped him out of his trance, and he finally saw just how _close _the corpses were. In a minute, maybe less, they had closed the distance he'd been trying to hold. Without Scarface or his squad holding down their position, the horde had managed to advance the last few yards to the barriers. They were reaching over the wall and into nearby vehicles, spilling over in ones and twos. The soldier manning the machine gun on one of the Humvees nearby was being yanked out by the collar of his uniform, and dragged over the side of the vehicle into the waiting hands of the undead. The driver panicking, slammed down on the gas pedal as the dead swarmed his vehicle. The Humvee shot away from its position on the barricade as the driver made a futile attempt to escape, opening a wide hole in the barricade. The gap it left in the perimeter was the final nail in the coffin for Checkpoint Echo.

The dead surged through, a tidal wave of rotting flesh and hungry faces. Conner turned his toward the breach, eyes wide with fear, and held down the trigger. His assault rifle shredded the first dozen corpses that came through with fully automatic death, bullets tearing flesh from bone, blowing holes clean through the reanimated bodies as they lurched toward him. The empty _click_ of his rifle seemed deafening as the final bullet left the weapon and the horde advanced unchallenged. He frantically searched for Dorn and Farley, but they had disappeared. Taking one look back at the horde pouring into the Checkpoint, he did the only thing he could do. He ran.


	5. (5) FUBAR

Conner scrambled under the nearest cargo truck as everything began to fall apart. One soldier, a Captain with his arm in a cast and a bandage around his head, barely had time to yell that the perimeter was breached before he vanished under a writhing mass of undead. Another trooper, a woman bleeding profusely from a large wound on her arm tried to fire her pistol at one of them as it came within arms' reach of her. The weapon didn't fire, and the monster pulled her to the pavement by her hair and began to eat.

A familiar voice pierced the veil of death that lay before him as Dorn and Farley ran into view, rifles clutched tightly in hand while the rest of the soldiers at Echo began to react to the breach. Farley leveled his weapon and fired, taking out two of the corpses that had been closing in on him. "Conner," Dorn wailed, "We're getting out! Sarge says we're leaving as soon as we get back to Kelley!" He paused as another approached, and he emptied his last few rounds into it. "Conner? Man, where are you?"

"Here!" Conner shouted, dragging himself out from under the truck. Dorn covered them as Farley extended a hand and Conner took it. "What happened? I thought you got shot."

With a massive grin, Farley motioned to his uniform. "And you told me I wouldn't _need_ Kevlar for fighting corpses."

"Hey assholes, we need to get out of here! This place is a deathtrap," Dorn commented.

The next few moments would be seared into Conner's memory forever. A soldier from another squad held a grenade in his hand, and the distinct _click_ of the pin being pulled was somehow still audible over the surrounding massacre. One of the walking corpses tackled him before he could throw, and sent the man to the ground where his head let out a sickening _crack_ upon contact with the pavement. In slow motion, the grenade rolled out of his limp hand and come to a rest a few feet away. Conner had no time to put his arms up and shield himself from the blast. It would go off, he would be hit, and then he'd never leave this hellhole.

"Goddamnit…" Dorn sighed, defeated. Then he gave out a cry and lunged forward. His body came to rest on top of the explosive, and in the split second before it went off, Conner could swear he was staring right at him.

The grenade exploded, and the muffled blast tore Dorn open. He rolled over, smoke rising from the remains of his charred uniform and burnt flesh. His eyes were completely still and dull, the faintest sign of fleeting life all but invisible. His face was warped into an expression of pain and terror, frozen in death forever. Conner had to force himself to keep moving.

A group of soldiers with heavy weapons had set up a second line of defense amid the destruction. With superior firepower, they held back the dead who had breached the line. The squad wouldn't do more than buy time, though, as the horde seemed limitless. Already, cries of another breached wall were cropping up on another side of Echo. A mud caked Captain was screaming into a radio for close air support as Conner and Farley dashed by him, begging for any help available. Medics were hard at work closing up wounds and administering morphine to bite victims and other wounded men.

Conner and Farley rounded a parked Humvee finally reaching the landing zone, and freedom, but true to form their luck continued to worsen. A squad of soldiers was standing in front of the helicopter, their backs to Conner and Farley behind them, with weapons covering Keenan and Carter who stood between them and the aircraft.

Keenan was holding his rifle up with one hand, while the other had dropped to the pistol he secured on his belt. Carter's rifle was pointed directly at the man closest to him, a short fellow with a shotgun whose uniform looked a little too large. One of them, likely their leader, had his pistol pointed right at Keenan in front of the formation.

Conner grabbed Farley and pulled him back around the cover of the vehicle as he recognized the grating voice of the man threatening Keenan. "Ya'll just step outta the way real slow and peaceful now, and things won't have to get ugly." Keenan responded with a few choice curses as Farley tried to step back out and see what was going on.

Conner pulled him back again. "What the fuck Conner? Those guys are going to take our ride out of this graveyard and leave us to rot. We have to help Sarge."

Nearly paralyzed with fear, Conner shoved Farley up against the Humvee and motioned for him to be quiet. "Shit, that's the guy from the perimeter."

"The asshole who shot me? He's trying to desert?"

"Yeah," Conner confirmed, "And I don't think he'll let anyone stand in his way." Even above the chaos unfolding around them, Farley and Conner both heard the familiar sound of a bullet being chambered. Scarface barked an ultimatum.

"You dead men better move out of the way before we have an unfortunate case of friendly fire. I ain't killed an actual _living_ person since this thing started, and my trigger finger is starting to twitch."


	6. (6) EVAC

Keenan scowled as Scarface pressed his pistol against his forehead. "Your time's up old man," he grunted. "Step aside."

Keenan stood still, letting no other expression betray his feelings. He had to shout to be heard over the massacre going on around them. "I guess you're right. We can't do anything because _Conner_ and _Farley_ aren't here." Conner and Farley threw each other confused looks as Keenan continued with his strange speech, seemingly emphasizing words at random. "I guess we should tell Kelley that the fat lady is about to _sing._ In about 30 seconds, right? A minute?"

Carter looked over at Keenan dumbfounded. "What? We're letting them leave us to die? You're giving up."

Keenan shook his head. "Son, like I said to _Kelley_, we have to face the _music _in about half a minute_._" Keenan looked out beyond the group of soldiers and glanced around. At one point it almost seemed as if he made eye contact with Conner, then continued to speak. "Like I said, _Conner_ and _Farley_ aren't here. Those two would be all _fired_ up, but we can't do anything without them.

"You think Sarge has lost it?" Farley asked. "We're screwed."

Suddenly, it dawned on Conner. It was so _obvious_. "No, he's getting us out of this. Follow my lead, man!" Silently, Farley did as he was told. The two crept closer, staying in cover as Keenan continued. They had closed to within 20 feet when the signal came.

"Well, it looks like Conner and Farley aren't with us," Keenan stated. "After we're done facing the _music now,_ they are _going to_ be _fired_."

Scarface's expression turned from one of confusion to horrified realization as Keenan's gaze flicked over to Conner and Farley behind him. At that same moment, the speakers mounted on Kelley's helicopter began booming at maximum volume. Scarface's soldiers flinched, jumping visibly as _Don't Fear the Reaper_ blared out of the helicopter's speakers at full blast. In that split second of confusion, Conner and Farley opened fire on the deserters from behind.

The duo's initial shots slammed into the rear of Scarface's squad, reducing their number by half almost immediately. The front half, however, remained standing, having been shielded from the initial blanket of lead by the bodies of their comrades. The short man wielding a shotgun sent a shell into Carter's body before the young man could react, tearing him nearly in two. Carter's twisted upper body landed in the helicopter, peppered with shotgun pellets and nearly unrecognizable from the damage. Too late, Conner and Farley finally found their target in Carter's killer, riddling the small man with dozens of rounds that shredded his body and sent him flying to the ground.

Scarface sent a bullet into Keenan's shoulder, knocking the Sergeant back and causing him to let go of his assault rifle. Keenan drew his own sidearm and sent the first round into Scarface's neck, then followed up with two more to his stomach. Scarface's hand began to spasm, and the quick jerks of his finger sent two rounds from his pistol into the ground, and another one into Keenan's chest. A quick burst from Conner's assault rifle stitched Scarface from neck to hip, bringing an end to the murderer's life. Keenan clutched at his chest with his good arm, and slumped against the side of the helicopter as he tried to stem the blood flow.

Music still blaring, Kelley stuck his head out of the pilot's door window. "Keenan? What's going on?" In the background they could hear soldiers screaming as they were ripped apart, and one shrill voice echoed above the rest with a jarring "Every man for himself!"

Farley hurled himself into Hanson's now unoccupied copilot's seat. "I thought he was here."

Panic crept into Kelley's voice. "You didn't see him? Hanson's still out there Farley, are you sure you don't know where he is?"

"No. Why did he leave the damn chopper?"

"Some guys on the other side of Echo got creamed by friendly fire, so he went to help the wounded and get them back to the chopper. He said he'd be back any minute."

"Hanson's gone, man. Take off."

The pilot exploded, face red with anger. "Fuck you, I'm going after him!" Kelley rose and drew his pistol as he stepped around his seat, but Farley grabbed him violently from behind. Jerking the pilot back, Farley drew his own sidearm and pressed it against Kelley's temple.

"You're getting us out of here, or you're not leaving this bird alive."

"You wouldn't. You need me to fly."

"Bullshit," Farley spat. "If you leave this chopper, you'll die out there and we'll be trapped anyway. Now get us in the air. He'll never make it back." Kelley's face contorted in emotional distress as the gun was pressed more forcefully against his head. He twisted, attempting to bring his own weapon into play, but Farley slammed the grip of his pistol into the airman's throat. He fell to the floor of the helicopter grasping at his neck, but the damage Farley had done was only temporary. "Hanson's dead," Farley stated deadpan, pistol still aimed at Kelley's head. "I'll send you straight to him if you don't sit down and fly us the fuck out of here right now." Tears welled up in Kelley's eyes as Farley audibly flicked the safety on then off again. "Your choice, flyboy."

"I… I…"

"You have five seconds before I paint the inside of this bird red at muzzle velocity."

After a long silence Kelley slumped in defeat, holding back sobs as he lay on the cold metal floor. Farley gently eased the pistol out of the pilot's hand, helped him up, and guided him back into his seat. He turned to Farley, face red, with tears cascading down his cheeks. Farley simply motioned with the gun, causing Kelley to scowl.

"I hate you," he hissed with contempt through clenched teeth. "You're a selfish _coward_."

"I have to do this Kelley," Farley stated. Kelley hunched back over his instruments. "It's the only way you'd listen," he said, meekly. Kelley didn't respond, focusing solely on his task as Farley kept the gun up.

Conner grunted with the effort of hauling Keenan into the vehicle. He propped him up in one of the seats and secured him there as best he could. The squad leader managed to croak out a fractured sentence.

"Dorn… where's Dorn… Carter… nobody left behind…"

Conner felt the reassuring vibration of the rotors spinning, a signal that they were on their way to being airborne. Head down, he struggled to give Keenan the somber news. He felt like he was choking on his despair. "Dorn's dead, Sarge. Carter too."

"Did you at least… bring them with you… can't leave them… far away… from home…"

"Not Dorn. There was no time. But Carter's here, Sarge. He landed in the helicopter... when…" He couldn't bring himself to finish it. His squad was almost gone. Just him, Farley, and Keenan left. What could he possibly say to make it all better? "But Dorn saved us. Me and Farley. He saved our lives."

Keenan just nodded. Conner saw that even that simple motion was a struggle for him. The veteran slumped in his seat, resting his head on the back of it. Kelley was sobbing in the pilot's seat as the aircraft lurched into the air at long last, ferrying them out of danger one last time. As he heard the pilot silently calling Hanson's name Conner pulled Carter's body away from the open door of the vehicle, and leaned it up against the back of Kelley's seat. Finally away, he breathed a sigh of relief and sat next to Keenan, keeping his hand on the Sergeant's shoulder in a show of reassurance as the man eyes fluttered open and closed


	7. (7) Turbulence

It was a quiet flight for the four survivors of Echo. The only noise, aside from the helicopter's rotors slicing the air, was Kelley's subdued sobbing from the pilot's seat. None of them found it easy to put the horrors they had just seen into words. Farley tried first.

"We left a lot of people back there."

"Shut. Up." Kelley kept staring straight ahead. The visor of his pilot's helmet was down, concealing his eyes behind a tinted glass shield in order to keep the others from seeing his tears. "Not all of us had a choice."

Farley, looking away, spoke again. "I'm sorry Kelley. I know he was your friend, but-"

"It should have been you," Kelley stated, deadpan. "Hanson had a wife in Atlanta. A kid, too. What do you have?" Farley opened his mouth to answer, but Kelley cut him off. "You have a _gun._ That's all people like you ever need. You just shove it in someone's face and make demands. You're fucking sick, all of you." His features were the definition of contempt and disgust as he bit out another condemnation. "It's not about living. It's about being able to live with yourself." Looking back over his shoulder at Conner and Keenan, he spat at them. "So much for 'no man left behind'."

"Get used to it…"

"I don't care how close you are to dying, Keenan. Go fuck yourself."

Conner jumped in. "Hey, Sarge is a good man. He might be an asshole sometimes, but he's a _good man._ Just like Hanson was. Show some respect."

Kelley looked as if he were about to leap out of his seat and beat Conner within an inch of his life. "_Never_ say his name again. You don't have the _right._"

"I'm sorry," Keenan croaked. "I failed him. All of them."

"Sarge, you didn't-"

"You know what's funny, Conner?" Keenan's voice was weak as he began to ramble. "They wanted us to die there. At Echo. The cocksuckers in Command, they told me we had to stay at Echo, even though it was gonna fall. They _knew_ we couldn't win, but they kept sending guys there to get killed. This wasn't the first time, either.

"I've been fighting in shitholes across this world for 40 years now. 'No man left behind' is a nice slogan, but it's just that. Something pretty for the recruiters to say to get stupid kids like you to agree to go around the world to some run down country they can't even find on a map and get shot at for a few years." He coughed, and a small stream of blood began to trickle from his mouth.

"It's always about the mission. Never about the people. That's why I decided that Command, and my orders, could go to hell today. I've always followed my orders. I've left friends to die on the whim of a superior. I've been left behind myself. I always told myself it was for the greater good, for the mission, but those were just _excuses._" He used the word _excuse_ much in the same way one would a curse. "I was just too afraid to defy my orders. Today I decided I'd to the right thing just once, but I fucked it all up. Dorn, Carter, Hanson…" He looked down at the slowly expanding stains of blood on his uniform. "And now me. I figured that I couldn't bring back Jules, or Cullin, or Peters, but I could make sure none of you got left in the first place. But I couldn't even manage that. Nothing ever changes. The only thing we do is relive the past over and over, until it becomes all that we are and consumes us."

None of them said a word as Keenan finished his rant. Even Kelley's sobs had quieted. The eerie silence was so encompassing, so distracting, that none of them noticed Carter's body begin to twitch from his position behind Kelley's seat.

* * *

Everything was blurry for Kelley. Not a single thing he could see ahead was in focus. It was all a mishmash of dull, faded colors and blurred edges as they entered the air above Macon. He couldn't focus on flying, the thing he used to love as much as life itself. Flying was his life as it had been for his best friend and copilot, Hanson.

_Hanson._ The name crept through the dark places of his mind that showed him horrible images of the _what ifs _that haunted his thoughts, and the ever returning scene of Hanson at the mercy of the monsters that had taken Echo. Alongside Hanson's name floated another in the ether of his thoughts: _Farley._

Farley. That killer, murderer. That _coward._ To his side, Farley was the only thing he could see clearly, the focal point of all of his pain and rage. Thoughts flashed through his head, thoughts of Farley suffering, in pain, dying. He nearly smiled at them, but the maelstrom of fury in his gut wouldn't allow him the pleasure. It would be a simple thing, really. He kept a knife under the instrument panel, for situations when he needed it. Hanson had always told him he was paranoid-

_Hanson. You're dead now._

_Farley killed you._

He _really_ needed that knife. Slowly, steadily, his hand crept to the position under the panel where the survival knife was secured, and felt a cold sense of familiarity come over him as his fingers wrapped around the blade's hilt. Closing his eyes, he prepared himself to strike.

The next thing he knew, Carter's corpse had gripped him from behind and torn a hole in his neck. Blood spurted as his hands flew up to pry the corpse off of him, and the helicopter began to plummet.

* * *

They were somewhere over downtown Macon when he felt the aircraft begin to fall from the sky. Sergeant Albert Gregory Keenan was an old soldier. The army was his constant companion, his career, his life. He'd been all over the world in his time, and some places he thought he'd never leave alive. Halfway around the world and 40 years earlier, he'd been in another helicopter as it rushed to meet the ground, belching smoke and flame as it lost control and crashed into a faraway jungle…

It was happening again. Another crash, another squad full of hopeful, young, soon-to-be-dead men. But he'd be damned if he let it happen again_._ Unfastening his harness, Sergeant Keenan calmly stood, blood drenching his uniform, and staggered across the vehicle. He saw Kelley jerk sideways as another chunk of flesh was ripped away by Carter's body, and felt the helicopter began to go into a death spiral as it headed for the city below.

With all of his strength, he wrapped his hands around Carter's neck and heaved. The creature that had once been one of his soldiers was torn free of the pilot, a bloody strip of flesh still clenched between its teeth. The thing swatted at Keenan as he slowly dragged it, but he couldn't feel anything. The bullets he'd taken earlier had deadened most of the feeling in his body.

He took a deep breath as he stood in the open door of the helicopter, arms hugging Carter's animated corpse to his own body, and jumped. Finally free of the crashing aircraft, he closed his eyes tight as the ground raced up to meet them both...

* * *

Conner had no time to process what had just happened with Keenan as the aircraft spun out of control. He held onto his seat tightly. The wind whipping through the open bay of the helicopter nearly tore him free of the vehicle, but he managed to keep his grip until it collided with a building, when the force of the crash sent him rocketing across the cabin and into the back of Kelley's seat. He struggled to breathe as everything went dark around him, until blissful unconsciousness claimed him and he went limp.


	8. (8) Broken Arrow

"…ir Focre Ba… we read… rley…dead inside… perime… eached… overrun…"

The subtle crackling of static guided Conner back into the world of the living. A massive pounding in his head felt like it was driving a nail or three into his brain as everything slowly came back to him. From the front of the wreck, a new voice emerged, one unbroken by interference.

"Robins AFB, say again? We went down somewhere in the city, possibly somewhere downtown. We need extraction, situation will soon become extremely hostile, over"

"Sorry Farley… can't send… base… casualt… inside the walls… not enough amm… no birds in the air…"

"Robins, are you saying you can't get to us?" _Farley._ That was the voice's name. He was starting to remember what had happened now, slowly shaking off the confusion created when he had become intimate with the back of the pilot's seat.

"Affirmative… unable to… swarming… everywhere… calling in Broken Arrow… on your own…" With that, the radio went silent. A despondent sigh echoed throughout the twisted remains of the vehicle as Farley shifted himself to look back into the wreckage of the main cabin.

"Thanks for joining me, sunshine. In case you don't know what's going on, we're fucked."

Rubbing his temples, Conner slowly rose. The floor of the vehicle was slanted, likely meaning that it had crashed at an angle. Farley was lower than him, so the aircraft's nose was down. The tail had likely caught on something higher, possibly a roof or a power line. "No worse off than usual, then?"

"Charming." Cautiously, Farley stepped out of the copilot's seat. "I just got out of contact with the AFB. They're calling Broken Arrow."

The phrase didn't mean anything to Conner. _I suppose I'm still out of it from the crash._ "Remind me, what does that mean? I don't think I'm completely back yet."

"It means we're on our own. 'Broken Arrow' means that they're about to be overrun, and that all planes in the area divert to their location and begin dropping bombs."

"Jesus… right on top of them?"

"Yeah. They'll be bombing the inside of the base wherever these walking corpses are thickest. If the base resorted to calling in airstrikes on top of itself, they're done for." As if on cue, the two men heard the roar of jet engines in the dark sky above them and paused to listen to them until they were out of hearing range. "Those guys are on their way to drop their payloads on the base. We can't go back."

"Wait, Farley, what happened to Kelley?"

Farley gestured to a silhouetted figure slumped in the pilot's seat. "Dead. Carter tore his throat out, as well as part of his face. I wouldn't recommend taking that helmet off, or even raising the visor. It's not pretty."

"Dead as in actually dead, or is he going to get up and walk around?"

"I haven't been able to destroy the brain, so he'll be getting up any minute now. A few of those things are out there and I didn't want them to find us before you got back on your feet." Another flight of jets screamed overhead on their way to the battle at Robins, flying low enough to send vibrations through what was left of the helicopter. "Let's go."

"It's the least we could do, Farley." Carefully, Conner eased himself out of the twisted remains of the helicopter. The helicopter had crashed into a building, so now he was inside. Through the darkness, he could barely make out overturned shelves and rubble scattered across the room. It looked like some sort of store, ruined by the crash. Farley landed next to him, rifle in hand.

"We'll need every bullet we have to survive this thing. That's just the way it is, man. It's about survival now."

"We made him _leave_ his best friend _to die._ What does that make us if we don't make sure he doesn't become one of them?"

Farley didn't face Conner. "It makes us survivors. Hanson had to be left behind if we wanted to live, but Kelley couldn't deal with that. It's a different world now."

Farley went to crawl through a small hole in the wall, but Conner's question stopped him momentarily. "Would you leave me behind? If you had to?"

He continued his crawl now, emerging into the eerily still streets of Macon. "In case you hadn't noticed," he said, pointing to a small group of shambling figures making their way closer to the crash site, "the neighborhood watch is on its way to complain about the noise we made while we were crashing. You can give them a statement if you want, but I'm getting out of here before they get that close."

It didn't escape him that Farley hadn't answered his question. Sadly, Conner gave one last glance at Kelley's limp form. In the darkness, he almost couldn't see the blood smeared all over his uniform or the areas of his neck where the flesh had been stripped away by Carter's teeth. "This shit is seriously FUBAR. Let's get out of here."

They exited the destroyed building while explosions sounded in the distance, to the south at the Air Force Base. Once across the street, they both turned to look at the shattered remains of Everett's Prescriptions and the metal tomb, tail still sticking through the roof, that housed the body of a once proud pilot. After a moment of silence for him, and the ones they'd lost before, they turned and began their journey. Farley, as always, was the first to speak. "Where to, pal?"

"The only place we can make a difference," Conner replied. "Atlanta."


	9. (Epilogue) 18 Days In

18 Days In, Atlanta Outskirts

Everything was wrong. This shouldn't have been happening, but it was. And through it all, nothing changed. The world still spun, the seasons still changed, all while the human race edged closer and closer to oblivion. He was on his knees, unable to muster the strength to continue standing in the face of the death of civilization. A hand rested on his shoulder as Atlanta burned before them, corpses walking the streets and chasing down the few remaining survivors. "Conner, get up, man. There's nothing we can do."

"That's it, Farley. It's over."

"No, it'll be fine. We can-"

"We can _what?_ You were at Echo. You saw how everything fell apart. Now it's happening here, too. It's happening everywhere." He wanted to do nothing more than lie down and die. A knot of frustration was tied in his chest as he shoved Farley away. "Leave me alone."

"This is nothing, Conner. We'll just-"

"_Nothing?!_ Look at it Farley! This is the end! For us up here, for the people down there in the city, this is the end for _everyone everywhere!_ And we can't do a goddamn thing!" Farley tried to respond, but Conner pushed him away. "You want to know what's really nothing, Farley? _Nothing_ is exactly what they all died for back in Macon. Keenan, Kelley, Hanson, none of it mattered because we _lost!_" He took handfuls of dirt and, finally standing, hurled them ineffectually in the direction of the dying city. "FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! GODDAMNIT!" Collapsing, he found himself on the ground once more, drained of even the slightest bit of energy.

"Conner, get up. It doesn't matter what's happening down there, because we're still alive. We can survive this."

"You're right. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing we do will make a difference, nothing we do means _anything._ We'd be better off if we'd fucking died in that crash with Kelley." His shoulders sagged in defeat. "It's only a matter of time, Farley. Sooner or later, our numbers are gonna come up and some asshole is gonna punch our tickets for us."

Subdued, Farley countered him. "You don't know that. Things might be fine up north, or out west."

"You don't know-"

"Conner, shut the fuck up and listen. Everyone we ever knew is dead, yes. They died for us, so we can continue to _live._ If you just lay down here and die, then everything the people we knew died for back in Macon really will be for nothing. You can't just give up." Conner sat there on his knees, silent, unmoving. He looked almost like a corpse, silhouetted against the backdrop of a burning city.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Farley spun as a new voice reached his ears while Conner continued to sit, staring out at the remains of Atlanta. He raised his rifle and flipped of the safety. "Who are you?"

The woman who had snuck up behind him was average height with brown hair taken up in a bun. She had dirt clinging to her clothes and face, but a hopeful expression served as a foil to Conner's hopeless and empty face. "I'm Beth," she said in a melodious voice, "and I just wanted to see if you needed any help."

"I'm Farley," he said, "And the guy over there is Conner."

Beth took Farley's extended hand and gave it a firm shake. "My group and I came to Atlanta because we heard it was safe. Obviously, that's not true," she said, nodding in the direction of the fallen city. "They sent me ahead to scout the area and make sure it was clear. Since we're not going into the city anymore, I'd hate to come back empty handed. If you two don't have anywhere else to be, I'm sure they'd appreciate the extra hands."

After a few moments of silence, Farley lowered his weapon. "I think we could make room in our busy schedule. Conner, let's go." Farley and Beth began the trek back, strolling up the road as Beth described her group.

Slowly, Conner hoisted himself up off the ground. "Conner, you okay?" Farley's words received no response. Sparing one last look at Atlanta, he realized that a part of him had along with the rest of his squad as the sobering reality that nothing would ever be the same hit him like a wall. Silently, steadily, he marched up the road after Farley and Beth, keeping himself at a distance as they walked ahead of him. Reaching deep inside himself, he tried to simply _care_. About himself. About his sister in Statesboro. About anything.

He couldn't. It was for the best, he reasoned. Everything and everyone he knew was gone. Well, except Farley. It was only a matter of time, though. Nothing lasted anymore. Everything was fleeting, temporary. If he ever got anything else, it just existed to be taken away. Better to not form attachments. In this new, dark world they only thing they would do was hurt him when they, inevitably, were severed.

* * *

**AN: Well, that was FUBAR (double meanings ftw) and I hope you enjoyed it. Whatever you thought, drop a review so I know how I'm doing. **


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